The 56th edition of West London's Notting Hill Carnival became a magnet for some two million people over the last bank holiday of August. With its 100-plus Dutti Mas acts, Brazilian bands, sound systems and Calypso kings and queens, its impact on the evolution of music cannot be underestimated. Carnival became a mouthpiece for Black music in the UK and beyond. How bass-less would our musical world be without the influence of those dub-heavy sound systems cranked up to earth-shattering levels? What would drum & bass dance floors look like without those frenetic amen breaks? Dub music with its bass heavy sounds, originating from sound system culture heard at Carnival, has influenced house, techno, UK garage, grime, hip-hop, trip-hop, trap and more. Keith Franklin, of the low end DJ outfit KCC and the Rocking Crew, is straight up: "The sound systems and bands at Carnival set the London dance music agenda for the year and beyond," he tells me.

But sound system culture doesn't exist because of Carnival per se, as Channel One Sound System selector Mikey Dread points out. "There wasn't a sound system culture in the UK—it's from the Black race. Without the influence of Black sound system culture, music in the UK wouldn't be what it is."

"[Sound system culture] dates back [not just] to the emancipation from slavery, [but] also to the deepest roots of Africa," Carnival CEO Matthew Philip tells me. This music movement migrated from Jamaica and became a response to hostile environments of British pubs proclaiming "no Blacks, dogs or Irish." So with nowhere to go, people held their own parties in church halls and community centres—leading to the evolution of the UK sound system. "This is our culture and it's loud." says Phillip, who was born into Carnival culture, wearing costumes by the age of eight and playing the steelpan by 12.

The steelpan, another instrument synonymous with Carnival, was itself born from resistance after the African skin drum was abolished by colonialists in Trinidad. In its place came the percussive bamboo-tamboo. When this was also banned, the steelpan arrived, made from empty cans of powdered milk. Carnival, with its abundance of steel bands, continues to fly the flag of a rich and robust Black musical legacy.

Immigrants helped build Britain, and the roots of Carnival are a testament to this fact. Trinidad and Tobago-born human rights activist Claudia Jones held a series of indoor events celebrating Afro-Caribbean culture that became the precursor to Carnival. It was a healing response to racism endured by the Jamaican "Windrush" Generation: immigrants who were invited to rebuild and indefinitely live in post-war ‘50s Britain when they arrived on the HMT Empire Windrush ship between 1948 and 1971. They were instead confronted with devastating racism, which led to the violent race riots of 1958 and to the murder of Antiguan carpenter Kelso Cochrane who was stabbed to death on his way home in 1959. His still-unsolved murder following a flimsy police investigation exacerbated racial tensions in London. These were some of the catalysing events for Carnival—Europe’s biggest street festival symbolising an affront to fascism with its celebration of multicultural Britain and Afro-Caribbean culture.

Carnival began as an impromptu event in 1966 after activist Rhaune Laslett O’Brien, known for her work easing racial tensions in the community through education, decided to bring together the various cultural groups of Notting Hill in celebration. O’Brien invited steelpan players like Trinidadian musician Russell Henderson and bandmates Sterling Bettencourt, Vernon "Fellows" Williams, Fitzroy Coleman and Ralph Cherry to join a free outdoor festival in a pledge to celebrate unity in diversity. They instinctively began to "make arounds"—Trinidadian for "going 'round the block"—when they lifted barricades cordoning Portobello Road to make their way down the street. Children, their parents and members of displaced Caribbean, Irish, African, Ukrainian, Turkish Cypriot, Asian and Scottish communities followed behind. But not everyone approved; white English people hurled abuses, telling them to 'go back to your own country.' But the procession continued, making its way along Holland Park Avenue, Notting Hill Gate, Bayswater Road, Queensway and Westbourne Grove before returning to Ladbroke Grove.

By 1976, Carnival numbers had swelled to some 250,000 people. An estimated 1,600 police officers, armed with batons, tried to shut it down by charging at the crowds. Mikey Dread recalls this time: "We heard a load of commotion and all of a sudden, people were running towards us. And then what do you do? You turn around and start running. The police were baton-charging everyone, and whoever was in the way, got hit. It wasn't a nice time as a youth."

Carnival's impenetrable spirit of resistance can still be witnessed today. It's been vigilantly expressed by Ladbroke Grove's community since the Grenfell Tower fire, when a block of flats refurbished with flammable cladding caught ablaze and took the lives of 72 people on June 14th, 2017. It was the deadliest conflagration in London since the Second World War.

The burned tower now looms menacingly over North Kensington and can be seen from the Carnival route. For those in the UK's richest borough, where one in four children live in abject poverty and the neighbourhoods are among the UK's most deprived, the wreckage is a constant reminder of that tragic night, one which took the lives of the most vulnerable and marginalised members of the local community.

In August 2019, I went to my first Carnival in over a decade—the last physical event to take place before the pandemic. I ebbed and flowed with the crowd and found the Aba Shanti-I Sound System on East Row. Grenfell was on the lips of almost every person I spoke with. Their conviction for supporting bereaved families and survivors and the quest for justice was clear as day.

At every Carnival since, sound systems shut down at 3 PM on Sunday and Monday to observe a 72-second silence for each of the Grenfell Tower victims. Silent marches also continue taking place on the 14th of each month since the fire. In an expression of hope for the future during a speech after one such march in February 2014, citizen journalist Zayed Cred cited the rapper Lowkey, saying the Notting Hill community "has a history of turning tragedy into triumph.” Philip agrees. "He's absolutely right. Community activism has always been strong. But Grenfell awoke something in the community."

"Carnival’s helped four generations heal from unspeakable pain by teaching us how to respond positively to challenges through creativity," says Linett Kamala, who is on Carnival's board of trustees and is also a DJ for the Disya Jeneration sound system. Kamala, now 53, was just 15 when she played a rocking vinyl set on this same sound system at Carnival in 1985. This year, she launched her Lin Kam Art Sound System Futures Program for nine young people who performed over this past weekend.

"Moving from a place of pain to joy and celebration of Caribbean culture—Carnival's an incredible force for healing and continues to inspire young people from all backgrounds to fight racism positively and champion humanity," she continues. "It’s about unity, love and communities of different cultures coming together to express themselves freely."

Returning to Carnival this year, I followed a convoy of sound systems and felt the energy from the free-spirited, vigorous dancing all around me as the sounds of dance hall boomed from a nearby float. DJs cranked up the sultry Afro-pop grooves of amapiano and soca (a '70s off-shoot of Trinidadian Calypso—meaning sounds of calypso.) Thousands went wild as they dance-walked with flamboyant, glittering costumes. I ducked and dove through the swarms of feathered headdresses. I felt like a drop in the ocean and swung a right, making my way towards the Aba Shanti-I sound system for the first time in three years. "Love and unity is the order of the day, no matter what they do, no matter what they say," echoed the words from Aba, as the dub reggae sounds sent tremors of bass through my being.

From fighting fascism in the fifties to fighting systemic racism today, Carnival has helped cultivate critical tools for protest. Still, some feel that perceptions about the event need to change to better respect its origins and contributions to UK culture. "Claudia Jones said, 'the people's art is the genesis of their freedom.’ Public order policing with section 60 powers to stop and search anyone at Carnival is anything but that," says racial justice campaigner and local historian Isis Amlak. To truly receive the respect it deserves, Carnival should be seen as a "home-grown African-Caribbean English heritage event."

By staying true to its roots, Carnival has also allowed a younger generation to mine their Carnival experiences to make their own music. "The spirit of carnival and celebration is pretty much in everything I do, and that comes from those experiences like the Notting Hill Carnival where there’s an underlying ethos for unity of people from all backgrounds," says London-based artist, DJ Mattana. "My music and art is hugely inspired by the culture of taking to the streets to dance and celebrate together." Meanwhile, others being trained as the future custodians of Notting Hill’s sound system culture are feeling the same—and they're already waiting in the wings.